Her face went blank. "I can't answer any questions about Jim. You'll have to ask him." She blinked a couple of times, then she smiled at someone just behind me.
"No, I don't," said Blackwood.
"You don't speak ASL?" I looked over my shoulder—not incidentally letting Chad see my lips. "Me either. It was one of those things I always meant to learn."
"Indeed." I'd amused him, it seems.
He sat down in the armchair and gestured to Amber to take the other.
"She's dead," I told him. "You broke her."
He went very still. "She serves me still."
"Does she? Looks more like a puppet. I bet she's more work and trouble dead than she was alive."
Poor Amber. But I couldn't let him see my grief. Focus on this room and survival. "So why do you keep her around when she's broken?" Without allowing him time to answer, I bowed my head and said a quiet prayer over the food… and asked for help and wisdom while I was at it. I didn't get an answer, but I had the feeling someone might be listening—and I hoped it wasn't just the ghost.
THE VAMPIRE WAS STARING AT ME WHEN I FINISHED.
"Bad manners, I know," I said, taking a slice of bread and buttering it. It smelled good, so I put it down on the plate in front of Chad with a thumbs-up sign. "But Chad can't pray out loud for the rest of us. Amber is dead, and Corban…" I tilted my head to look at Chad's father, who hadn't moved since I'd come into the room except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Corban's not in any shape to pray, and you're a vampire. God's not going to listen to anything you have to say."
I took a second slice of bread and buttered it.
Unexpectedly, the vampire threw back his head and laughed, his fangs sharp and… pointy. I tried not to think of them in my neck.
It wasn't nearly as creepy as Amber laughing right along with him. A cold hand touched the back of my neck and was gone—but not before someone whispered, "Careful," in my ear. I hated it when ghosts snuck up on me.
Chad grabbed my knee, his eyes widening. Had he seen the ghost? I shook my head at him while Blackwood wiped his dry eyes with his napkin.
"You have always been something of a scamp, haven't you?" Blackwood said. "Tell me, did Tag ever discover who it was that stole all of his shoelaces?"
His words slipped inside me like a knife, and I did my best not to react.
Tag was a wolf in Bran's pack. He'd never left Montana, and only he and I knew about the shoelace incident. He'd found me hiding from Bran's wrath—I don't remember what I'd done—and when I wouldn't come on my own he'd taken off his bootlaces and made a collar and leash out of them for coyote me. Then he'd dragged me through Bran's house to the study.
He knew who'd stolen his shoelaces all right. And until I left for Portland, I'd given him shoelaces every holiday—and he'd laugh.
No way any of Bran's wolves were spying for the vampires.
I hid my thoughts with a couple of mouthfuls of bread. When I could swallow, I said, "Great bread, Amber. Did you make it yourself?" Nothing I could say about the shoelaces struck me as useful. So I changed the subject to food. Amber could always be counted upon to talk about nutrition. Death wouldn't change that.
"Yes," she told me. "All whole grains. Jim has taken me for his cook and housekeeper. If only I hadn't ruined it for him." Yeah, poor Jim. Amber had forced him to kill her—so he wouldn't get a new cook.
"Hush," Blackwood said.
I turned my head so I sort of faced Blackwood. "Yeah," I said. "That won't work anymore. Even a human nose is going to smell rotting flesh in a few days. Not what you want in a cook. Not that you need a cook." I took another bite of bread.
"So how long have you been watching me?" I asked.
"I'd despaired of ever finding another walker," he told me. "Imagine my joy when I heard that the Marrok had taken one under his wing."
"Yeah, well," I said, "it wouldn't have worked very well for you if I'd stayed." Ghosts, I thought. He'd used ghosts to watch me.
"I'm not worried about werewolves," said Blackwood. "Did Corban or Amber tell you what my business is?"
"Nope. Your name never crossed their lips once you were gone." It was the truth, but I saw his mouth tighten. He didn't like that. Didn't like his pets not paying attention to him. It was the first sign of weakness I'd seen. I wasn't sure if it would be useful or not. But I'd take what I could get.
Know your enemy.
"I deal with… specialty ammunition," he said, looking at me through narrowed eyes. "Most of it top secret government stuff. I have, for instance, been very successful with a variety of ammunition designed for killing werewolves. I have, among other things, a silver version of the old Black Talon. Silver is a lousy metal for bullets; it doesn't expand well. Instead of mushrooming, this one opens up like a flower."
He spread his hand so it looked like a starfish.
"And then there are those very interesting tranquilizer darts of Gerry Wallace's design. Now that was a surprise. I'd never have thought of DMSO as a delivery system for the silver—or a tranquilizer gun as a delivery system. But then, his father was a vet. This is why tools may be useful."
"You knew Gerry Wallace?" I asked, because I couldn't help it. I took another bite as if my stomach weren't clenched, so he wouldn't think that the answer mattered too much.
"He came to me first," Blackwood said. "But it didn't suit me to do as he asked… the Marrok is a bit larger target than I wanted to take on." He smiled apologetically. "I am essentially a lazy creature, so my maker used to say. I sent Gerry on his way with an idea about building a superweapon against werewolves in some convoluted scheme sure to fail and no memory of coming to me at all. Imagine my surprise when the boy actually came up with something interesting." He smiled gently at me.
"You need to watch Bran closer," I told him. I grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it. "He's more subtle, and it makes that omniscient thing work better for him. If you tell everyone everything you know, they don't wonder about things you don't tell them. Bran…" I shrugged. "You just know he knows what you're thinking."
"Amber," said the vampire. "Make sure your husband and the boy who is not his son eat their dinner, would you?"
"Of course."
Chad's cold hand on my knee squeezed very tight. "You say that like it's a revelation," I told
Blackwood. "You need to work on your verbal ammunition, too. Corban has always known that Chad's not his biological son. That doesn't matter to him at all. Chad's still his son."
The stem of the water glass the vampire was holding broke. He set the pieces very carefully on his empty plate. "You aren't afraid enough of me," he said very carefully. "Perhaps it is time to instruct you further."
"Fine," I said. "Thank you for the meal, Amber. Take care of yourselves, Corban and Chad."
I stood up and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
He thought it was stupidity that I wasn't afraid of him. But if you shiver in fear in a pack of werewolves, that's really stupid. If you're scared enough, even a wolf with good control starts having problems. If his control isn't strong—well, let's just say that I learned to be very good at burying my fear.
Pushing Blackwood wasn't stupid either. If he'd killed me the first time—well, at least it would have been a quick death. But the longer he let it go on, the more I knew he needed me. I couldn't imagine for what—but he needed me for something.
My bad luck he was taking it on as a challenge. I wondered what he thought would scare me more than Amber before I caught a good tight hold on my thoughts. There was no future, just the vampire and me standing by the table.